Monika was older than Sandra, but she was one of those fun grown-ups that you can have as a friend.  She liked Sandra and they often did things together, but the thing that Sandra liked best was their Serious Talks.  Monika knew a lot, but she was good at listening as well.

“What are you up to Missy?” Monika said cheerfully as she gave Sandra one of her big squeezy hugs. “What’s that big book you’re reading?”

“Monika,” called Sandra’s mother from the kitchen, “Would you mind lighting the fire while you’re there.  It’s getting cold already.”

“No problem,” she called back, “It’s as good as done.”

“Well,” said Sandra, in a very important sort of way, “I am not exactly reading this book, but I am looking at the pictures because of what happened last night.”

“What happened last night?” Monika asked, looking a little puzzled.

So while Monika was arranging the firewood and stuffing some paper under it all to get the fire started, Sandra told her all about last night and how she was, well, almost right there when the boy was born.

“So now I need to find out what happened next,” she said when she had finished the story.

“And what have you found out so far?” Monika asked.

“I found out that some men came and gave gifts to him – not the very best gift you can give, but anyway, nice things.  And now this picture comes next but it’s all wrong.  Look!”

Monika studied the picture for some time and then dropped back into one of the lounge chairs to watch the fire slowly burning brighter and hotter.

“Well,” said Sandra, a bit impatiently, “What happened?  Who sent those soldiers and why are they so angry?”

Monika stared into the fire that was now beginning to warm up the whole room.  She was thinking.

“Sandra, did you see what I just did?”

“Did what?”

“I lit a match.  I lit a small match, just a tiny piece of wood with a little flame on the end of it.  And now look at the fire!  It’s going to heat up the whole house soon.”

“But what about this picture?”

“Well,” said Monika, now looking keenly at Sandra, “When that boy was born, because he was sent by God, it was like lighting a match.  Something very small, this little baby being born in a stable, was the beginning of something very big.”

“I don’t understand.” said Sandra, flopping back in the big lounge.  “Say it again.”

“The angels told the shepherds that the baby was the Coming One.  Those men with the gifts were also told by God that he had come, and they understood that he was the true king.  But when they asked people where they could find this new king, the man who was the king at the time wanted to kill him because he wanted to stay being king.”

“I see.  He was jealous.  That’s very bad.  But did he find him?”

“No, God protected him.  But the king was so angry he told his soldiers to kill many children.  It must have been horrible for all those mothers and fathers.”

They both sat quietly for a few minutes, looking into the fire.

“What is his name?” asked Sandra, breaking the silence.

“Who, the king?”

“No, the baby boy.  What did his parents call him?”

“In their language, it was Yeshua, but in English…”

“Who cares about English,” interrupted Sandra, “I like Yeshua.  If his mother called him Yeshua, so will I.”

Monika smiled and they both just stared into the fire again.  Then Monika poked at the fire and added another log. 

“That’s just the beginning of the story Missy”, she said, standing up.  “But I have to go now.  I might see you later.”  And before Sandra could object, Monika was out through the kitchen and gone. 

So Sandra settled back, taking up the big book again, and as she began to slowly turn the pages she could be heard saying, “Where are you, Yeshua?  Where are you?”

“Sandra, it’s time to go.”

It was her mother calling.  She was going to visit one of their friends and Sandra had to go too.  She usually liked going visiting, not just because of the nice things to eat, but often the grown-up’s talk was interesting to listen to – that is, if there were no children to play with.

There were no children with this family – or not at home anyway.  When they arrived the mother started complaining about her son who was twelve.

“He doesn’t listen to me any more,” she was saying. “I don’t know what to do.”

Sandra had an older brother who was twelve, and he did listen to his mother, well, most of the time.  The two women talked on and on while Sandra concentrated on the sweet biscuits and the warm drink she had been given.  Then she heard something that made her sit up.

“When he was twelve he must have been so different from other boys his age.  I mean, think of what he said to his parents, ‘Didn’t you know that I must be doing my Father’s things?’.”  I wonder what it was like for them.”

She didn’t say anything, but Sandra couldn’t wait to get home and find that book again.

After what seemed like a very long time they were saying goodbye and thank you for all the nice things and before long were back home.  Sandra opened the book up very carefully and settled in very comfortably next to the warm fire to find a certain picture.  When she found it she began to look at all the details and was wondering…….

Very soon, she heard voices in the kitchen.

“Of course we will help.  Oh dear!  I am so sorry.  No, you go now and search.  I’ll tell him when he comes.  Don’t worry.”

“He never did anything like this before – it is just not like him.  We are so worried.  I hope it’s not because the king…”

“Try not to think of it.  Ask your friends around here.  Someone will know where he is.”

By the time Sandra got to the kitchen they were gone.

“Who was that?” she asked her mother, but she thought she already knew.

“Friends,” said her mother.  “They have lost their son, he is twelve and they are very worried.   Have you tidied your room?”

“But can’t I help find him?” begged Sandra.

Her mother gave her one of those looks that said, “I don’t need to answer that” and Sandra went to tidy her room.

Soon, when her father came home and heard what had happened he said he would go to help immediately.  Sandra rushed up to him and without even saying anything she heard the answer she longed for, “All right, you can come, Blossom.”

They went out into the street – it was still light – and hurried into the main part of the town.  It was quite busy with lots of visitors there for the Festival.  The place where everybody seemed to gather was The House, the large group of buildings and open squares where the Festival was held.  There all the old and wise men would gather to discuss Important Things and there all the visitors would come to take part in the Festival.  Anyway, that’s as much as Sandra knew about it.

They seemed to walk a long way, up and down narrow streets and around large paved squares, trying not to bump into people busy with all sorts of things.

Suddenly Sandra’s father stopped and stared.

“What is it?” she asked, trying to look in the same direction. 

She could see, not very far away, a group of old men gathered and talking together.  That was a normal thing here.  But then she saw something amazing.  Standing in the centre of the group was a boy, and the old men were listening to him and asking him questions!

“Is that him?” Sandra asked her father, pulling at his hand.  “Can we go and listen?”  The boy had his back towards Sandra and she wished he would turn around. 

Just then they saw a man and a woman run up to the old men and start talking to the boy.  They seemed upset but happy at the same time.  He said something to them and then the man, the woman and the boy all left together.  The boy carried the man’s bag for him.

Sandra’s father began walking towards the group of old men.  When they were close enough, Sandra heard them saying, “Did you hear what he answered?  ‘My father’s things’ he said.  But his father is not a priest.  What did he mean?  But his understanding!  Wonderful!   So clear!  So simple!  Amazing!”

“Can’t we follow them?  We can catch up.” said Sandra, pulling her father in the direction the family had left.

But her father stood still, looking after them, and with something like a sad sparkle in his eyes…….

“Hey, Missy, you are going to pull me over”, said Monika as she bent down to give her a hug.  “What are you up to?”

It was already evening now, and Monika had dropped in again on her way home.  The fire was burning brightly – Monika was really good at fires – and Sandra’s mother was busy preparing dinner.

When Sandra had sorted herself out and Monika had stopped laughing, Sandra said in an important grown-up sort of way, “Monika, we need to have a Serious Talk.”